A Wedding in the Olive Garden

by Leah Fleming

  Julie was always a daddy’s girl and Paul had spoiled her. They used to gang up on Sandra and go off, leaving Sandra to stay home to see to things alone which was fine by her.

  One day Paul came home from work with a pain in his side. They operated for an appendix but there was peritonitis and a serious infection that would not heal. He died within three days and Julie, who was then fifteen, would not be comforted.

  Sandra got used to the silences, the slamming of doors, the absence of any affection. It was as if Julie switched off from her. She suggested bereavement counselling that had so helped her come to terms with the shock and loss of her husband but Julie refused to even consider this. The spark suddenly went out of her daughter. Julie later trained as a social worker and married Colin after a brief courtship: one weekend they went off in secret to Gretna Green, told no one until they returned.

  Sandra was denied the fun of planning a wedding, watching her daughter try on dresses, inviting friends to share the big day. It felt as if she was being punished for Paul’s death and for not being enough and for not being him. It was as if there was a steel wall between mother and daughter and Sandra didn’t know how to fix things between them.

  Her dearest wish was for Julie to come closer and talk things through with her. She sent postcards, texts, photos, never forgetting the family’s birthdays and giving lavish gifts to her grandchildren, Gemma and Scott, but never receiving a thank you reply. It was as if, being with Jack, she didn’t exist anymore as a gran or part of their family and it was breaking her heart.

  She’d also invited them to come to enjoy this big villa, offering to pay for flights, but Julie emailed a curt reply, Booked for Tenerife this year. Crete is too far and not for Gemma, perhaps another time. Sandra clung onto that ‘another time’ but she knew deep down it was not going to happen.

  ‘Don’t you go upsetting yourself,’ said Jack. ‘She’ll come around in her own time.’ He was ever the optimist. Time was running out though. The future was uncertain and she wanted to make things right between them.

  ‘Do I have to be in my coffin before she turns up?’

  ‘No more of that talk, you’re getting stronger by the day,’ he replied. No, she wasn’t, and she feared that pining for Julie sucked her strength and resolve but she still smiled and nodded, playing along with his confidence.

  As she was sitting in the silence of the chapel, she suddenly found herself relaxed. Perhaps there was another way to reach out to her daughter. If not a funeral, why not a wedding? She and Jack had been happy to live together without a thought of tying the knot but their affairs would be better if they were a couple. Sandra looked up at the icon of the blessed Maria holding her child. Where had that idea come from? Thank you, Sandra thought, for an answer to my heartfelt prayer of desperation.

  *

  Sara had returned with reluctance to Sheffield, to her office where Karen her assistant was keeping the kettle on the boil, arranging appointments, following up enquiries. It was hard to go back but she knew she would not be staying long. She stared up at the grey skies, the sameness of familiar streets. The thought of returning to the island stalked her every move but she needed time to get her head round the idea of this new business venture, owing her parents an explanation as to why she would not be staying long.

  Sara took herself up to Hope Valley to walk the hill trails and think through her new future, trying to imagine what was needed to bring this idea into being. She could see everything unfolding in her mind’s eye but it needed grounding in reality. Her evenings with her parents were spent online eyeing up the competition, what packages they offered and how they advertised themselves to couples. It was hard to imagine herself being able to nudge in and make it a success but what she needed was a unique selling point, something different, but what?

  One evening over supper with her parents she explained how being on Santaniki had made her rethink future plans. ‘There’s nothing to keep me here now… I need a challenge, to take a risk. I wish you could see it out there. It’s unique and I feel at home… Don’t laugh, but I feel it’s calling me back. I dreamt this wedding idea, bringing couples over to tie the knot in the sunshine.’

  Her mum looked at her dad. ‘You must be psychic… you remember Dad’s best man, Jim? He’s just got wed to Phyllis, both widowed and second time around. They went somewhere in Greece and did just that. Just a small do. We were invited but didn’t feel it was right with you being so down and all that.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you should have gone,’ Sara said. ‘I spoilt your plans.’

  ‘None of that, we had a golf break in Scotland while you were away.’

  It was the phrase spoken off the cuff that brought a grin to Sara’s face. That’s it, she thought. There it was, her unique selling point. ‘Second time around’ covered all ages, not just pensioners. They could be family gatherings or private ceremonies, where couples could holiday and doubled it up as their honeymoon.

  ‘Judging by the look of their photos, it went champion,’ said her father.

  Later, Sara couldn’t sleep. A second time around gave couples a chance to have a different experience, putting the tin lid on their first wedding day. She felt a buzz of excitement, punching out ideas onto her iPad. Each package had to be tailor-made, bespoke to their needs to include children, grandchildren, a family affair or a private affair suitable to mature clients. They could find a villa and bring over friends and family, choose their own food, music and each wedding would be unique. Second time around had to be special.

  First, though, she would visit Phyllis and Jim to see what they felt about their wedding. Did it come up to expectation? What touches made it special for them? Then she must search out local wedding fairs to look at current trends and size up opposition. She was glad she had returned home.

  Sara needed to do her homework, looking at the cost of relocating, advertising, funding. She must find a good web designer, source a loan from the bank to set up the business. Were the gods on her side in this venture? So much to do but siga, siga, as Mel advised; slowly, slowly, she must test out the dream.

  The thought of returning to Santaniki to live was exciting as well as daunting but she recalled Maslow’s pyramid: the more you plan, the better the outcome. It was up to her to make this venture work.

  August

  10

  Local resident Pippa Delamere was relaxing with her partner Duke, Griff and Mel in the taverna when she suddenly felt queasy. ‘Give me a second,’ she told the band, shooting off to the loo in the taverna.

  ‘You okay?’ Mel said. It had been quite a night. Simon, Griff and the guests from the retreat house had filled the taverna for their last night party. The band gave them a set or three to remember. Mel, who loved singing with the group, was belting out some eighties numbers, Griff was on keyboard with Pippa on guitar and Duke on the sax.

  Pippa returned. ‘Sorry, I had a funny turn but I’m fine now. I can help you clear up…’

  ‘No, off you go, thanks for a great evening but you do look peaky,’ said Mel.

  ‘I’m just a bit whacked,’ Pippa replied.

  ‘Have a drink before you leave then?’ Spiro offered.

  Pippa shook her head. ‘Better not or I won’t sleep. Come on, Duke, time to hit the sack.’ They strolled hand in hand up the hill to the little cube stone house they called home, a rather decrepit old building that had lain empty for years. It was just three rooms, a vegetable plot with plenty of space for a hen run and a goat. Pippa felt so tired she just crawled into bed half-dressed and went out like a light. In the morning she woke bog-eyed and feeling sick. Duke was worried. ‘You’ve got to go and see the doctor.’

  ‘It’s just a bug and the heat. I’m fine, don’t fuss.’ Pippa got up feeling wobbly. This had been going on for days and it worried her but she didn’t want Duke to see her fear. They had been partners for years. Duke was a roadie with a band that promised much until drugs got the better of the group. Pippa was his girlfriend who bai
led out, seeing there was no future in the Serpent’s Tail. Duke followed her. She could not go home because her patrician father had shown her the door when she refused to be shackled with a chinless wonder who owned acres in the shires but who bored her rigid.

  Boarding school and cookery courses in Switzerland had destined her for her photo in Country Life, one of those girls in pearls, but she was too much of a free spirit to be reined in by his bullying. Pippa loved the Glastonbury festivals where she ran a veggie stall cooking fast food for hungry musicians. Duke was a regular customer, handsome with soulful black eyes and a mane of dreadlocks. Together they toured Europe in a van, ending up on Santaniki.

  Aged hippies they might be but they could sing and play, and Duke mucked in at the olive and grape harvests, cleaning pools, labouring for builders and keeping their veg plot in good order. Pippa had helped out at the dog rescue pound until it was closed down by the council, and wanted for nothing. They lived off the land, loving the freedom, tending their stock. Almost forty, Pippa felt that life was perfect… until now.

  Deep down she feared the worst: the sickness and the dizziness, the bloat, hot flushes and irregular periods. Perhaps it was an early menopause but in the back of her mind she remembered her mother dying of cancer when Pippa was a teenager. No one had spoken about her illness to her. She was away at school when the head called her to her study and told her the worst news possible. Was history going to repeat itself? She could not sleep, feeling her bloated stomach. Better to know the worst. There were new treatments now. She would be brave and make an appointment at the health centre.

  Next morning, she sat in the waiting room trying not to tremble, dashing to the loo until it was her turn. Shaking and anxious, she sat with the doctor explaining her symptoms. ‘My mother had ovarian cancer…’

  ‘Let me examine you,’ Dr Makaris said as she lay on the couch while he pummelled her stomach. ‘You feel sick, your periods are scant?’ Then he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I think this is not cancer, Philippa… There’s a baby in here, about four months at least.’

  Pippa sat up. ‘How come?’ The doctor shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

  ‘The usual way, of course. We could do a test now and see.’

  Pippa produced her sample and watched as the blue lines appeared then burst into tears. ‘I thought it was…’

  ‘No, look, new life, congratulations. My wife will want to see you and check you over regularly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Pippa jumped off the chair. ‘I can’t believe it… I’m too old.’

  ‘So what? Life begins at forty, you English say,’ he replied, writing out a prescription for vitamins.

  Pippa staggered out to the sunshine, stunned by the news. She was going to have a baby, a child of her own. They had been careful for years and now this news. How would Duke take it? A great worry was lifted off her shoulders but… a baby in their humble shack? Things would have to change now there was a new life to support.

  *

  Back in Sheffield Sara was busy putting plans together. She visited her parents’ friends to hear their experience.

  ‘We had a lovely holiday, love, just the two of us,’ Phyllis said, pouring tea into china cups in their cosy front room. ‘We were so sorry to hear about your…’ She broke off.

  Sara smiled, shaking her head. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine now. Tell me more about your wedding.’

  ‘It was just the ticket for us, a quiet ceremony. We did all the legal stuff here, it made it easier, and then we flew to Santorini to a posh hotel who found someone to hear our vows. It was very romantic.’ Phyllis flashed pictures in front of her. ‘I loved my dress, it was a cool floaty kaftan. They did my hair and nails and Jim wore chinos and a shirt.’

  ‘Did you mind no one being there to share it with you?’ Sara asked, thinking of her own parents who were lifelong friends.

  ‘No, a bit too expensive for them to travel and it was our private day. They all came to the register office and we had a gathering of friends afterwards in a hotel. We just wanted to do something different for us, no one else. It’s been a long time overdue. Two pensioners acting like lovebirds and we had a holiday of a lifetime into the bargain, didn’t we, Jim?’

  ‘Was there anything that you would have changed?’

  ‘No, but I saw one bride arriving with a dress that looked that heavy she could hardly carry it. Poor lass would be very hot and sweaty in the gown, and imagine it trailing in damp sand! Our ceremony was perfect for us and they gave us a quiet room away from the bridal party that followed us… talk about rough… Shouldn’t say that, should I? Some Brits give us a bad name with their shouting, fighting and drinking. Why are you so interested?’

  Sara revealed a little of her ideas. ‘Just thinking it through at the moment but it’s not as if I don’t know how to organise parties.’

  ‘Can’t you do it here, love?’ Phyllis asked.

  ‘Santaniki is the perfect venue. I will have no competition. I even met someone from Sheffield out there who has a taverna. She’s being helpful. Besides, I need a change away from here.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ said Jim. ‘Go for it, girl. You’re young. It’s so easy to stay put and rot without a challenge.’

  ‘How do you like the name “Dream Island Weddings, second time around”? I thought I’d cater for more mature couples.’

  Phyllis shook her head. ‘No, you do right. “Dream Island Weddings” is a bit vague. And second time around can come at any age, don’t you think? Next-door’s daughter was divorced at only twenty-six. Things have changed since our day.’

  Sara nodded. ‘I do think there’s a market for the second time around but I need to think it through. Thanks for listening.’

  ‘I hope I haven’t trodden on your dreams,’ Phyllis said. ‘You have a good idea. We went to a wedding fair where we got our ideas. That might be useful for you.’

  ‘I’m glad of your advice and I don’t want to narrow the market. It’s a bit of a risk.’

  ‘You’re a doer, Sara Loveday, allus was, allus were. We wish you all the luck in the world, you deserve it.’

  They shook hands and Phyllis kissed her. Sara smiled all the way back to her office. She couldn’t wait to get back to Santaniki and share everything with Mel. She must discuss the idea with her own business assistant as well before she took this leap in the dark. Was this just a fanciful notion or a genuine plan? But first, she needed to find a local wedding fair.

  *

  There were crowds queueing outside the hotel to enter the wedding fair, all those hopeful brides with their besties and mothers, poring over dresses and brochures, sampling dishes and tipping back the free wine. She found a stand for Paradise Tours where a girl she recognised from college was waiting for customers. She had not changed with her cheesy smile, whitened teeth, bleach-blonde hair. Her nails were like talons. ‘Oh, it’s you, Sara Loveday. Like the tan… What are you doing here? How can I help?’

  The stall was covered with romantic shots of locations and brides posing under blue skies.

  ‘I thought Paradise Guide to the Greek Islands was a travel agent?’

  ‘They are but now expanding into the wedding business. It’s very profitable.’

  ‘I’m thinking of branching out into weddings myself,’ Sara said, her heart sinking at this news.

  ‘Really? I’d have thought it was the last thing you’d want to do after…’ The rep paused. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Sara swallowed her feelings but the rep had more to say.

  ‘You know it’s a crowded market out there. I hope you speak Greek, we have translators, guides and our own experienced wedding planners, accommodation agencies, the lot.’ She was boasting that her company had resources Sara could only dream of.

  ‘I have my own sources too and yes, my Greek is coming on well,’ she lied.

  ‘Do you know all about the red tape? I would advise you not to pitch in there. You won’t stand a chance as we could beat you at
every quote. You wouldn’t want to live out there anyway. You’re a city girl… Where are you thinking of?’ She was probing but Sara shook her head. ‘Not sure yet but thanks for the warning. It’s good to size up the opposition.’ Sara couldn’t resist the jibe.

  ‘My advice, for what it’s worth, is to stick to what you know: home weddings in the Peaks would suit you fine. Crete, Santorini and Corfu, forget them. Stick to parties and anniversaries, christenings and Christmas parties. That’s your ballpark.’

  Sara smiled through her teeth and picked up a brochure. Here was a grade one cow, the sort who looked you up and down to find your flaws. ‘Thanks, you’ve been very illuminating.’ The rep stared after her, not understanding the sarcasm of her comment.

  Sara moved on and picked up glossy brochures for Wedding Bliss, a very expensive, bespoke outfit, guiding brides into their pricey menus and entertainment. The Bliss package was a sausage machine, pay upfront with few refunds and not very inviting. She trundled from stall to stall looking at the expense of the wedding dresses, feeling depressed, but there were some good ideas for weddings on a budget.

  Sara did not think thirty thousand pounds plus for one wedding day was justified but couples made their own choices. It was obvious by the look of some punters that they had oodles to spend. It was a useful if disheartening exercise but was bringing her fanciful ideas down to earth. There was so much to mull over but she sensed she’d know whether developing this business was realistic when she landed back on Santaniki.

  11

  Pippa sat drinking Mel’s lemonade. ‘I can’t believe it. I’m nearly five months gone and never knew. Duke is still in shock. We thought all that passed us by because it never happened and we forgot about ever having a family.’